The Improbable Reality
by ObjectingGentleman
Summary: Sherlock and John: the ultimate team. But what if it never was really a team at all? It was only ever Sherlock- and John only existed in his mind. But until now, Sherlock never knew.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, Sherlock fans!

I literally came up with this idea at midnight and wrote it down as quickly as possible. I know the writing isnt the best and the chapter is short, but i swear it will get better. I just needed to start this and get something down quickly. So, this chapter is out here right now for you to evaluate. Right now what I really want is reviews. Tell me if you like this idea and if i should keep going with the story. And i promise it will get ten times better. If i get a lot of positive feedback, ill keep going. If not, ill just trash the idea. So please, honest opinions! And thank to any who review or follow!

-Your fellow Sherlockian

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"I'm sorry?"

"I'm afraid it's true, Mr. Holmes. Or rather, not true, if you get my gist."

Sherlock leaned back in the leather chair, scrutinizing the man in front of him. His mind unconsciously picked out the details of the psychologist's life (in his mid forties, two unhappy marriages, recent pay cut, etc.); but he did not really process them as he usually did. For once in his life, he was too preoccupied to think clearly.

"When did these...conversations with yourself start?"

Sherlock didn't even bother to look up. "I don't have conversations with myself. I have conversations with-"

"With John, I know." Sherlock watched as the psychologist began to tap on the desk with increasing speed; he was irritated and wanted to go home. Something important must be happening tonight, a party or a special occasion.

Using his observations, Sherlock decided to seize his chance. "Well. That was certainly...enlightening. Thank you for your time, but I really must be going."

"Wait!" The psychologist held up his hand urgently. "We're not done..."

"Dr. Freud," Sherlock whipped around and gave the doctor a simpering smile, "do you really want to miss your anniversary dinner? I don't think your wife would be very happy. And you can't afford to lose another one. Literally."

Sherlock spun around on his heel and reached for the door, his last image of the doctor one of the man's mouth flopping open like a dying fish. He smiled to himself, and headed back to Baker Street.

O O O

Sherlock opened the flat door as quickly as he could and rushed up the stairs, trying to avoid any confrontation.

"Sherlock!"

He winced, hearing his name. Too late. Looks like he would have to talk after all.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade." He dipped his head in mock politeness.

"Oh Sherlock, how did everything go? I know it must be hard for you realizing that he-"

"It went well, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you." Sherlock cut her off abruptly.

"You always had your funny ways and we never really questioned 'em, but this one, well this takes the cake," Lestrade put in.

"I'm going upstairs," Sherlock didn't wait for an answer, merely bounded up to his flat. He needed an escape from all this.

As soon as he reached the top, he let himself go, let out all the emotions. He fell to the ground, shaking in fear and horror.

"John..." He whispered.

It wasn't possible, was it? That he, with all his brilliant deductive skills, had overlooked something as great as this? There had to be so many clues, so many obvious things that his brain had hidden...how?

Sherlock heard a chuckle from behind him. "Loony, isn't it? Absolutely batty. I mean, I always knew you were brilliant, but this? I agree with Lestrade. This takes the cake. You were so bloody brilliant that you fooled yourself."

Sherlock looked up at the man standing behind him, tears in his eyes for the first time since he was a child. "John...how... How did this happen?"

The man smiled and shrugged. "How should I know? We just found out that I'm not even real."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, readers!

This is the last short set-up chapter. After this the chapters will be longer, and start to explain what's going on. So please enjoy, and after this we start to dive more into our story!

And please please please review! I love to hear what you have to say, positive or negative! Thanks :)

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Sherlock lay on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. He still couldn't believe it. How could he have made Watson up? He remembered meeting him in this flat, all his deductions about the man and his past life. How could he have seen someone who wasn't there?

"Your brain...well, Detective Lestrade told me that you complain often about being bored. I believe your mind wanted to create a thing, a place or person as a sort of outlet for your boredom. You don't seem to be schizophrenic, which makes this a very odd and rare case indeed. You were living a fairly regular life (for you)...but John was never real."

Sherlock ran the psychiatrist's words through his head.

"John..."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock jumped up from the couch and spun around to face the door. Mycroft stood in the doorway with a look on his face that Sherlock had never seen before.

Sherlock dipped his head. "Mycroft."

"I'm so sorry for your terrible loss. If only we had known sooner-"

"Good God. Not you too. I mean, I expected pitiful attempts at sympathy from the others, but you? Really? You're better than that."

"But-"

Sherlock picked up his violin and spun it around in his hands. "Don't try to be sympathetic. Honestly, this John character was merely a distraction my mind somehow created for me. I am shocked that this happened, not sad. And neuroscientists everywhere are having a field day with my brain. So really, more good done than harm."

Mycroft sighed. "I don't believe you, you know. From what I saw, you seemed very connected to...John. But obviously my sympathies mean nothing to you."

Sherlock began to play a mournful melody on his violin. "Do you ever believe me? About anything? And quite right; I want none of your misguided sympathies."

"You were always talking to yourself, all the time. I thought it was just a nasty habit you'd picked up, but really you were talking to him. You must have liked him very much. In your head, at least."

Sherlock stopped playing, his violin suspended in the air. "He was a mere distraction for my mind." His voice wavered on the word 'mere.'

Mycroft sat silently for a few minutes. "Of course. He was whatever you needed him to be."

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock spun around, bemused, but Mycroft had already left.

Sherlock sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "John...I'm sorry. You did mean a lot to me. You were a good friend, truly."

Sherlock looked around for the ghost of his friend, back to mock him from his mind. It seemed that he couldn't just conjure John up whenever he wanted now that he had discovered the truth. It seemed that he would pop in and out of Sherlock's mind on his own time.

He sighed. It wasn't the same anymore, none of it was. Two days ago...he had been with John. Most of those around him thought that he had turned himself in, that he had figured out the truth about John all along. But that wasn't what had happened at all.

Moriarty.

Once again, he had been playing games with Sherlock. Even in his death he had left behind one last puzzle for him. He was the only one who had known the truth about John, including Sherlock himself.

Two days...that was all it had taken to bring the world crashing down.


End file.
